The Mystical Arts of Baby Assassins
by thegalacticpope
Summary: Dick Grayson hates magic. It's impossible to predict, can have devastating consequences, and just all around sucks. So when he gets cursed by a new villain in Gotham who has magic powers, Damian reveals his magical knowledge. Damian knows a spell that can stop the witch. But because he is not connected to magic at all, he has to pay the price for it from somewhere else
1. The Day the Earth Stood Still

_Dick Grayson hates magic. It's impossible to predict, can have devastating consequences, and just all around sucks. So when he gets cursed by a new villain in Gotham who has magic powers, Damian reveals his magical knowledge. Because he was forced to learn as much about magic as he could in the League of Shadows, Damian knows a spell that can stop the witch. But because he is not connected to magic at all, he has to pay the price for it from somewhere else. For graysonslittlebird_

The Day the Earth Stood Still

Dick Grayson hobbled into the Batcave to find an impatient and frowning Damian waiting for him with his arms crossed. It wasn't anything new, really. Damian was always frowning and impatient. But it was that little crease in between his eyes that gave him away. He had been worried. Dick shot him a grin as he flopped into Bruce's armchair.

Damian glared at him. "What happened to you?"

"Just a rough night, kiddo. Nothing to worry about."

"I'm not _worried_. I'm being practical. This wouldn't happen to you if I was out there watching your back."

Dick groaned as he peeled of his domino, ribs twinging with the movement. "You know the rules. When Bruce is off-planet, no patrols for Robin."

" _Unless_ ," Damian hissed through clenched teeth. "going on patrol with anyone from Batman Incorporated. Last I checked, _Nightwing_ , that included _you_."

* * *

"Look," Dick ran a hand through his hair. "I've been tracking down a new player. We don't have a lot of intel on him, and he's dangerous. Known to kill. I don't want you getting tangled up in this mess."

"You don't trust me?"

"No! No. That's not it, Damian," Dick ignored his protesting muscles and knelt in front of Damian, holding him at arm's length. "I'm doing this because I want to protect you. Because I want you to be safe. Because I love you."

The wide-eyed shock on the 10 year-old's face made Dick's heart twist. Honestly, was this still a surprise? Didn't Dick tell him that enough? Obviously not, if those simple words were enough to make him look so…sad.

Dick leaned forward to tug Damian into a hug, but pain raced through his chest, and he slumped over. Damian was by his side in an instant, supporting his weight.

"What's wrong? Where are you hurt?"

" _Magicians_ ," Dick groaned. "Magic is the _worst_."

Damian stiffened when he heard the word. "Come."

He hauled his mentor to his feet and guided him over to the medbay where Dick flopped onto the nearest gurney.

"Take off your armor."

"What? Why? It's not a big deal, Damian. Probably just some bruises."

Damian didn't budge, and just glared. "Now."

Dick grumbled but obliged. Ruefully, he smiled to himself. Damian was taking care of him. He was getting a taste of his own big brother treatment. His youngest brother _did_ have a satisfied smirk ghosting his lips.

Finally, Dick managed to remove the top portion of his suit, and peeled it away. Damian hissed through his teeth at what he saw.

Dick had obviously been hit by a spell. Across his right side and abdomen was bluish-black and hurt a lot more now that it was exposed to the open air. Small hands went to touch it gently, but the soft contact was enough to make Dick's head spin in pain. Damian's hands felt like molten iron on his skin, and Dick turned his head so he wouldn't have to look. Bad idea. He caught a glimpse of his reflection from the glass of the retired Robin suits and it gave him a better angle to see his side.

The entry point where the magic had hit him looked like an old, rotting wound. Bile rose in Dick's throat and he tried not to be sick.

"Grayson, did the caster have a wand or did they use their hands?"

"Wha-why?" Dick sputtered, caught off guard by the question.

"Think. It's important." Damian's blue eyes were boring into him, his little face so stern. "Wand or hands?'

"Uhh, hands I think."

"Did the caster have any talismans? An animal close by? An object they used to cast the spell?"

"No animals, and nothing besides some really tacky jewelry. I really don't see how this is—"  
"Was the jewelry made from crystals Grayson?"

"Yeah, I think so. Why?"

Damian cursed under his breath.

"Just because it's in Arabic doesn't mean I don't know you're swearing," Dick offered a smile.

Damian just glared right back. "This is not a _game_ Grayson. You've been cursed by a witch."

"A _what_? How do you even know that?"

"That's not important right now. I don't have time to look for the countercurse. It's spreading."

It was instinct to look down and see what Damian was talking about. Dick really wished he hadn't. His skin was turning black and splitting like it was dry and cracking apart. He gritted his teeth. "That's okay, lil' D. I can handle it." He moved to push himself to his feet.

A small, firm hand stopped him from rising. "No, Grayson. You cannot handle it. If we do not treat this right away, you will die."

Dick paled. "How do you _know_ that?"

"I'll tell you later," Damian mumbled, motioning for Dick to lie down.

"I don't remember you being this bossy," Dick said, trying to lighten the mood. He could feel Damian's worry over them both, churning like a thunderstorm.

" _-tt-_ " was all he got in response. Dick trusted Damian with everything he had, so he laid back, and watched Damian work.

There was a frenzy of hectic movement as Damian scrambled about, gathering an odd assortment of objects, and even sprinting up to the kitchen to grab a wooden salad bowl. He filled it with warm water, muttering under his breath as he did so, and added a single rose petal, a round grey pebble, a few strands of Dick's hair that Damian had hastily and mercilessly pulled out, and some rock salt. Then Damian grabbed his pesh-kabz, and sliced open his hand, letting his blood flow into the bowl before Dick could protest. Damian was still mumbling under his breath but it was getting louder.

Dick watched with wide eyes as the water began to glow an unnatural gold, but this didn't seem to shock Damian, who deftly dipped a clean linen cloth into the bowl, and applied it gently to Dick's side.

His back arched as he cried out in pain. He'd never felt anything so excruciating in his whole life, and that was saying something coming from him. But the pain didn't ebb, didn't soften, and the chanting continued as Damian cleaned his wound, and eventually his vision went white.

* * *

Dick blinked open his eyes to find Damian bandaging his chest with shaky hands. He looked pale, his eyes hollow and sunken in. It was like he hadn't eaten or slept in a week.

"What happened?"

"I neutralized the curse. I couldn't get rid of all the damage. You still have frostbite. Sorry."

Dick sat up, wincing as his ribs protested, but it was nothing compared to the pain before. He looked down at his abdomen and peeked under the bandages. The skin was now a inflamed and burning, but at least it was a healthy pink.

Dick stared at the kid before him with wide eyes. "Damian," he breathed. "Can you use magic?"

" _-tt-_ " Damian scoffed, as if the idea was ridiculous, as if Dick hadn't just watched him make a bowl of water glow. "Of course no—"

He was interrupted by an urgent beeping from the Batcomputer that signaled someone was in an emergency and needed backup.

Dick slid onto his feet and rolled his shoulders, testing out his mobility. He could make this work.

"You aren't going, Grayson. You've just been cursed."

"They called for a reason, lil' D. I'm not gonna just leave them hanging."

"Alright. Then I'm coming with you."

Dick couldn't help but grin. He knew he was breaking his own rules but he couldn't help it. The stern-faced baby assassin was turning into quite the hero.

"Don't look at me like that, Grayson. We both know that my presence is necessary because you're an incompetent fool."

Dick's grin widened as he started slowly for the Batmobile. He turned on his coms. "Suit up, Robin. Don't worry Red Robin. We're on our way."

As Damian sprinted to go suit up, Dick called after him, "This doesn't mean we aren't gonna talk about your magic powers later!"  
"They're _not_ magi—" But Dick shut the door to the Batmobile, cutting off his protest.

* * *

As it turns out, Drake had the situation pretty much under control by the time Dick and Damian arrived, although Damian would never admit it to his face. Someone had hijacked a prison bus filled with low-level criminals and driven it through the Wayne Botanical Garden. The prisoners had promptly scattered, terrified for some reason none would admit. They had all been apprehended by Red Robin and the Red Hood, and were cuffed in a neat row along the pavement. The mastermind hadn't been identified, but Drake suspected it was Hush. All in all, a job well done.

Damian had hopped out of the car as soon as it stopped, and was striding towards his middle brothers. Dick was slow to follow, his injury making him ginger.

"Hood. Red Robin. Why did you call us out here if our assistance was no longer necessary?"

Drake looked like he was prepared for the demanding tone. "Well, Robin. Seeing as there's twenty-four criminals and only one Red Robin, an extra set of hands seemed like a good idea."  
"Right," Damian sneered. "Because you're too pathetic to do it alone."

"Hey, kid. That's enough—" Jason stepped in, trying to use his impressive height and stature to intimidate him.

"Gray- _Nightwing_ is injured, you idiots. Next time you call for help, make sure you actually need it before he goes scrambling to help you even if he has to drag himself off the gurney to do it."

Tim paled, but by then Dick had joined them.

"Nice job, Red," Dick grinned and ruffled Tim's hair. "Looks like a clean run."

"Thanks," said Tim, eyes flickering over to Damian. "How was your night?"

"You know, the usual," Dick said casually.

"That's not what we heard," Jason said, pounding Dick on the back a little too hard.

Dick winced. They all saw it.

"Well, I _did_ have a run in with a wizard."

"It was a witch."

"Right. A witch."

"And…?" Tim arched an eyebrow at him.

"She got away."

Damian cut in. He'd had enough. "She cursed him."

Tim's eyebrows shot up, and although they couldn't see Jason's face, Damian got the sense he was distinctly impressed. "Damn, Nightwing."

"Well, are you going to be okay?" Tim asked, voice raising in pitch with worry.

"I think so. Lil' D patched me up."

"Ugh, I _hate_ magic," Tim said with distaste. "It makes no logical sense."

Damian supposed that would be true for someone untrained in the mystical arts. Magic didn't adhere to the rules of this plane of existence, and so to understand the rules, one had to understand the varying planes of reality. It was not an easy undertaking. He didn't say any of that. Instead, he just scoffed at Drake.

"It's not like you know anything about magic, so shut it Demonspawn."

Damian just glared, but Dick clears his throat.

"Actually… he seems to know someth—"

ha _ha_ Ha _h_ ah _aA_ hah _H_ a _ha_ hAh _a_ H _A_ h _a_

A low, deep rumble of laughter had them all stopping short. The sound had no discernable source, it seemed like it was coming from everywhere.

" _Shit_ ," Jason swore. "What the fuck is that?"

I s _e_ e yo _U_ s _u_ R _vi_ Ve _d_ my C _u_ r _S_ e, _b_ Oy. _I_ wo _N't_ s _a_ y i _t'_ S _n_ oT a _s_ U _rp_ Ri _se_.

They had all tightened in a circle, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Jason was so tense pressed up against Damian's back it felt like he would snap his own bones. Tim was bouncing on the balls of his feet nervously. He really did hate magic. Dick was as still as possible, barely breathing looking for any sign of their attacker.

Damian knew it would do them no good.

B _u_ t I _w_ aS s _eN_ t h _E_ re wi _T_ h a m _is_ SiOn to _C_ oM _p_ lete. Ki _lL_ t _h_ E w _aR_ ds o _f_ tH _e_ N _ig_ Ht. T _h_ At m _E_ aNs _you._

With that, a figure rose out of the concrete like it was water 30 meters in front of Tim, who yelped in surprise.

Damian glanced over his shoulder.

"Shit."

The attention of the three oldest Robins was suddenly focused on Damian.

"What is it, kid?" Jason asked. "You know her?"

Damian looked closely at the figure. The witch was wearing long white robes that billowed in a nonexistent wind, no hair, but intricate tattoos all over her scalp, and she was unnaturally tall and willowy. Her eyes had no iris and no pupil and glowed gold. She stared into Damian's soul. He knew he had not met this particular witch before, but he knew what she was.

"No, but I know what she is. She's a Maleficium Supreme."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"Language, Jason!"

"It means she's one of the most powerful witches. Or _the_ most powerful."

It took them a few precious seconds to digest this.

"So how do we defeat her?" Tim asked quietly, analyzing the situation as best he could.

"To defeat her we need to separate her from the stone around her neck. It's where she draws her power and it won't be easy."

"Okay," said Dick calmly, soothingly. "So, here's the plan—"

They sprung apart as a shadowy burst of energy exploded at the center of their tight circle.

Damian wished he had his twin Khopesh swords or at the very least a katana, but since he'd been patrolling with Grayson swords had been discouraged. But he reached down into his ankle holder and slipped out his pesh-kabz. The small, curved blade would have to do.

"Keep her busy!" he shouted over his shoulder as he launched himself at the witch.

"Damian! No!"

But Damian had already left Dick behind and was charging towards the witch. He heard the sound of his brother's doing what he ordered, distracting the Supreme and drawing her magic away from Damian.

She watched him approach with disinterest.

Damian grit his teeth. A few more meters…

When he was just an arms-length away, she vanished into a thick cloud of white smoke. Damian choked, but he dragged his blade through the haze, feeling the resistance as it met her essence.

The witch screamed in pain, and Damian ducked and rolled out of the white haze coughing up the foul smoke.

 _H_ oW _dA_ rE yO _u_ , Mo _r_ t _A_ l?

Damian rose to his feet baring the blade at the newly reformed figure. He bared his teeth in a feral grin. "This is a sacred blade, blessed by flowing water under a new moon, and anointed by the Al-Awliyaa' of Quba. Which means I can hurt you, witch."

Her eyes glowed brighter.

t _H_ en i _w_ iLl h _Av_ e T _o_ kil _L_ yO _uR_ bre _Th_ re _N_ fiR _st_.

" _No!_ " Damian shouted, whipping around to see Jason flung across the pavement and crash into the marble fountain. His helmet protected him from the worst of the damage, but he still staggered to his feet, lurching sideways in time to barely miss a bolt of crackling energy.

Damian's mind was racing. His brothers were holding out, but they were fading fast, especially Grayson, who'd already been cursed. He thought back to the lessons his Grandfather made him take, to memorize the rules of magic in their varying forms. Because even an assassin could defeat magic if they just knew how.

But Damian couldn't. There were uncountable planes of existence and it was impossible for one to know all the rules to every one, even if he did have more knowledge than most. Damn it. _Think._

"Robin! Go to the cave. Get reinforcements!" Dick managed to shout before getting struck by another hex. Damian watched in horror as he slumped over, either from the hex or his residual curse.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't let them die. He knew it was a weakness that his mother and Ra's al Ghul did not tolerate, but he couldn't help it. He felt it in his bones, his soul. He would not _let_ them die.

And just like that, an idea.

Damian spun on his heel, sprinting for the fountain, and passing up a Tim struggling for breath. He ignored Drakes sharp "a little help?" and made a beeline for the water.

The water was the key.

Damian knew the consequences of this choice. He knew he was not gifted in the mystic arts, and that such a plan would cost him. Possibly everything. But he felt that heaviness lift when he launched over the marble rim of the fountain and into the frigid water, because he knew it would work. He was sure of it. He could save them.

The breath was driven from his lungs as he plopped down to sit in the freezing water, but he ignored the cold. He rested his palms on his knees and closed his eyes, digging deep to remember the words.

And then he began to chant.

It was an old spell, one he'd found tucked away in his Grandfather's library. It was powerful, but it had a heavy cost, even to those who could draw from a wellspring of magic. Damian had no magic. He had less than 5% aptitude with the mystic arts, as best anyone could tell. He was a person firmly rooted in this world, this plane of existence. But that 5% was all he needed.

The ancient Sumerian rolled off his tongue and he opened his eyes to check if it was working. Tim was hobbling over to check on Jason and Dick had pulled himself up from where he had fallen.

"Robin, what are you doing?"  
But Damian couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, even if he wanted to. A half-finished spell was infinitely more dangerous than a powerful complete one.

His words were making their way through the air, lazily wrapping themselves around the witch, and binding her magic to her. She thrashed and wailed, but Damian continued, sweat beading on his forehead, breaths heaving from his chest, even as he sat in the frigid water.

At last, at last, the words were almost done. He could feel the magic taking it's price from him, and he did nothing to try to stop it. He was almost there.

Damian was so focused on completing the spell, he hadn't realized Dick had painstakingly made his way to the edge of the fountain, and was calling his name.

The witch screamed as she was bound, and disappeared in a flash of light to whatever realm she came from. It didn't matter now. It was done.

Damian's eyes locked onto Dick's as the last words rolled out of his mouth, and the price was paid. Everything faded into calming whiteness.

* * *

Dick panicked when he saw Damian collapse into the water facedown and limp. All previous pain was ignored as he launched himself into the water and gathered the child in his arms.

He was pale, his beautiful mahogany skin faded to a washed out gray, and he was so cold. Dick pulled him close and stood, running a soft hand down the boy's cheek.

And that's when his heart stopped.

Damian wasn't breathing.

"No, no, no, no, no, no!" The litany of refusal came completely unbidden, and he didn't even pause to separate what was spoken and what was thought.

Dick set Damian down as gently as he could, sickened by the limpness of his body, and checked for a pulse. None.

" _Tim!_ " he screamed. Protocols be damned, identities be damned. Nothing mattered but this. Nothing else mattered. " _Get me the crash kit now!_ "

Dick started compressions, counting under his breath as he pumped. He blew air into Damian's lungs. Jason and Tim were beside him in an instant. At some point, Jason had pulled off his helmet and was staring at Damian with wide, haunted eyes.

"C'mon, kid. C'mon."

Dick pumped for Damian's heart, and breathed for Damian's lungs. He could not die, no. They would not lose him. He could never accept it.

 _Breathe. Breathe…_

.

.

.

.

.  
.

29 Days Later

"Hey buddy," Dick greeted as he walked into Damian's room. The machines that kept him alive beeped comfortingly. "How are we doing today?"

Dick settled himself in the chair beside Damian's bed, and cracked open A Tale of Two Cities. "Where'd we leave off last time? Chapter 11 in the third book, huh? The Track of A Storm."

The room filled with Dick's voice as he read the book, even doing different voices for different characters. To be honest, he didn't find the story all that interesting, but Jason had said that Damian wanted to read it before—and there it was. The thought he couldn't think. It was too painful to think about before and so he let it slip away, getting lost in pages and routine and safety. And wishing, begging, praying for his boy to open his eyes.

When he got to the end of the book, he stared blankly at his hands. It was dark outside now. When had that happened? Someone, probably Alfred, had left him a tray of food for dinner, but he couldn't find his appetite. Someone, probably Bruce had turned on the lamp for him when the sun was setting. The book was done. What was he supposed to do now?

Dick was broken, shattered, gutted. He'd never felt this way before. Not even when his parents had died. He _needed_ that angry frown, the stern little face, the little wrinkle Damian got when he was worried. He _needed_ to see the penetrating glare, hear the barbed words, brace for the little fists he knew were coming. He _needed_ it. He needed it more than he needed air. And so Dick did what he always did when he needed comfort.

He looked to his little brother.

And for the first time in almost a month, his brother looked back.


	2. Epilogue

Damian had come back to the world of the living to an extreme amount of physical affection that he felt was not warranted. But he endured it, because the look on Father's face, on Dick's face, told him what he'd put them through. They'd suffered because of him. And he felt strangely guilty even though he was the one who had almost died.

After a few days, when he'd finally gotten some strength back, and could stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, Damian woke to a room packed with every single member of his family. Alfred stood dutifully by the door, Father at the foot of his bed. Tim was sitting next to Damian's feet, patting his ankle absentmindedly. Steph was on the floor, leaning against Tim's legs. Jason was leaning against the wall and watching him closely. Cassandra had even come from Hong Kong, and was standing comfortingly close to Bruce. She shot him a look that said they'd talk later. Dick was where he'd been for the past few days, glued to Damian's side at all times. They were all staring at him.

"What?" he said irritably. "I didn't die, did I?"

Damian saw Dick flinch at the words, and instantly regretted them.

It was Bruce who answered. "No. You did not."

Damian let out a triumphant sigh, but Bruce arched an eyebrow in a way that said they weren't done with him yet.

"But it was close, Damian. Your heart stopped. Twice. You weren't breathing. You very easily could have died."

"But I didn't."

Dick gave an exasperated huff. Jason chuckled under his breath.

"Damian. I need you to tell me what you did. So I can make sure you never do it again."

The look in everyone's eye (especially Alfred, there was a particularly evil gleam in his eye just then) told Damian to hold back his true sentiments. He'd do it again if he needed to. They didn't need to know that.

"Well, Father. I casted a spell that saved my incompetent brothers."

The room was silent for a few heartbeats.

"You know how to do magic?" Tim butted in, unable to restrain himself. Steph slapped his leg.

"Obviously, or you'd be dead, Drake."

"How?" was all Bruce said simply.

"I grew up in the League of Shadows—"

"Yeah they're the League of Shadows and Assassins not the League of Motherfucking Magicians!"  
"Jason!"

"Sorry."

"My Grandfather is over 7 centuries old, Todd. One does not survive that long without at least encountering the mystic arts. We of the al Ghul family have been studying magic for decades. There are many different types that come from different planes of existence. The key to defeating a magic user lies in identifying the type of magic they're using. And so I studied this carefully for years under the watchful eye of my Grandfather." Damian paused and took a deep breath. For some reason everyone watching him so closely was making him uncomfortable. "I had little aptitude for the mystic arts, about 5%. Which very low, but is common for assassins, who on average range from 0-3%. But the little aptitude I do have means I can act as a conduit of sorts for certain spells. All magic users have a connection, a sixth sense if you will, toanother force. Like gravity. And they can draw upon this force when they cast spells. The connection can vary, so some are stronger than others. But I am from this world. I can only exist here. So when I cast a spell, the price has to come from somewhere else."

"And where does it come from?" Dick practically growled.

"For people like me, who have no connection to magic, only certain types of spells can be performed, and the list is rather limited. Mostly wards, and defense spells," Damian hedged.

"How did you pay for the magic, son?"

Damian sighed. "With my life force."

The room was deadly quiet.

But then, exploded as everyone started yelling at him at once. Even Alfred had let out a betrayed, "Master Damian!"

Damian closed his eyes, exhausted. He knew they were mad, and he knew that he was in trouble but right now he just wanted to sleep.

"Please, can we talk about this—" he was cut off by a huge yawn. "tomorrow? I'm so tired."

At the rareness of their baby assassin using the word 'please' they all reluctantly agreed and filed out of his room, leaving him alone with Grayson. He was watching Damian intently, with an expression Damian couldn't place.

"You may never ever do that again, do you understand me?"

Maybe it was the sound of Dick's wrecked voice, or the tears glistening on his unshaven cheeks. Maybe it was the look in his eyes that promised unconditional love, or the way he gently embraced his little brother in his comforting arms. Maybe Damian was just as weak as his grandfather always claimed.

But he finally gave in.


End file.
